Ridealong
by Javanyet
Summary: How DID a Fixer and a Geek ever hook up?  How, indeed.  The road to the L.A. Resistance, one day at a time.
1. Day One

_**DAY ONE

* * *

**_

"Get outta that car, and your hands better be empty!"

Angie Harper jerked violently, banging her head on the underside of the dashboard where she'd managed to wedge herself when the shooting started. She figured once the explosions stopped and the echoes had died away that it might be safe to come out. That patrol didn't waste a moment on her; there seemed to have been someone else outside but it was hard to be sure. She'd been yanked from her fitful doze in the front seat by the sounds of the battle, and didn't take the time to catch all the details before diving onto the floor of the beat-up Honda that had sucked up its last drop of gas sometime around sunrise. Maybe if she kept quiet they'd decide nobody was there, and leave… that delusion was shattered along with the driver's side windows that were blown inward seconds later. She screamed hoarsely, feeling the sting of safety glass as it cut her hands and face even as she tried to duck lower.

Crouched in combat position between their van and the Visitor patrol vehicle, Ham Tyler and Chris Farber exchanged a look of cautious surprise. That scream was no lizard, that was for sure, but there was no telling who _was_ in there, or what (or who) they had with them. Tyler stood and took a couple of steps, ignoring the several Visitor bodies that littered the area.

"You're not gonna get a second invitation! And the next round'll be a _lot_ lower!" He waited. Nothing at first, but he thought he could hear ragged breathing as he ventured closer.

Inside the car, Angie weighed her options. Right, options were a thing of the past, like every other thing she used to take for granted. The voice _sounded_ human, but who knew? Was this Visitor territory, or Resistance, or disputed? Even the "middle of nowhere" didn't exist anymore. She had no idea where she was or who had control of what. Her ears were ringing from the disruptors and gunfire. Even if they weren't Visitors, she didn't relish the idea of turning herself over to them. There were no rules anymore – none that she understood anyway. No law, nothing at all but the roads that were taking her to… _where_? She didn't even know where she was running, or if it was away from something or into something worse, if that were possible. Don't kid yourself, she thought, _anything_ is possible now. Her racing thoughts were jolted by another round of gunfire that exploded from closer by this time, but not where it had been promised, or it would have killed her. Playing with her? Since the invasion sickos everywhere felt free to play.

"You got until three; one… two…" Tyler had altered plan, approaching the vehicle as he motioned Chris to circle around behind the small stand of bushes where the runty little car was nosed in out of the sun.

Angie scrambled out the passenger door, stumbling as she went. When she glimpsed the biggest, shaggiest man she'd ever seen she darted reflexively in the opposite direction, regained her footing, and ran blindly. Away, or to. It didn't matter, she had stopped thinking clearly days (weeks?) ago. The next rush of firepower screamed over her head. She dropped to her knees, doubled over and shaking. Christ, she was _so tired_. Even the march of footsteps through the raggedy grass and the shadows that fell across the ground in front of her couldn't persuade her to raise her head.

"Well go ahead, will you? Kill me, or feed me to the Visitors, I don't care. I _can't do this_ anymore."

The two men exchanged a glance. They'd heard that sort of thing before, more times than they could count, more places than they could remember.

Dropping his voice from the original commanding bark, Tyler asked, "You got any weapons?" Purely a matter of form, and habit. This one probably couldn't even handle a tire iron at the moment.

Angie raised her hands. "I got nothing. I don't even have _gas_." _If you're going to kill me just_ _please, please do it now._ She didn't have the guts to suffer like she'd heard others had, not that it would be a choice in any case.

Tyler and Farber stepped back. Farber shrugged toward his partner, who responded with a "stand down" look. Both of them stepped back a few paces and lowered their guns.

"Okay, get up," Tyler directed. When she didn't move he added, "We're not going to shoot you, or feed you to the lizards, unless you give us a good reason to."

_Gee that's reassuring…even if I have __no idea what anyone might consider a good reason_. Angie tried to stand, not thinking it would be a problem. But halfway to her feet she swayed to the side, and the big shaggy guy shot a hand out to steady her. She pulled away once she was upright and wiped the dirt and sweat from her face with a bloody hand, wincing as various cuts connected with one another, finally raising her head to get a good look at Tyler and Farber.

She gestured vaguely. "So. What now?"

Tyler noticed the edge of fear in the three words. No bravado or sarcasm, which is what he and Chris had become used to from both ally and enemy. The woman was about 5-6, thirty-something, medium build, hadn't been spending much time at the gym judging from the audible wheeze under her breath. She was dressed in blue jeans and a torn chambray shirt and black sneakers, her narrow face framed one side by a length of hamster-brown hair tangled in a sloppy braid that hung in front of one shoulder. More like a giant dreadlock, at this point. Narrow eyes, too, almost flat, beat down which wasn't surprising. But not dead. Ham thought of a phrase someone once used to describe his own eyes: One-way. Taking everything in but not letting much out. For Tyler it was a well-honed skill, but this one… who knew, maybe it came natural to some people. One person's skill was another person's… whatever.

"There's water in the van," Chris announced out of nowhere. "You look like you could use some."

They turned to lead the way but Angie hung back. The dead Visitors didn't bother her much. But going into a van with these guys…

Tyler turned sharply and answered the unspoken doubt. "Look, lady, if I wanted a piece of you I could take it right here, al fresco." She jumped at the brutality of the image as he went on, "But I got that poison out of my system a long time ago and my partner here," he indicated Farber, "he never caught it. So you can stay out here and die if you want, or you can risk a drink with us. Up to you." He turned on his heel and strode to the van where Farber had already pulled out a jug.

Out of ideas or even random thoughts, Angie followed numbly. She even managed to croak, "Thank you," after the big shaggy guy handed her a battered plastic cup she immediately swilled from, suddenly aware of her ravenous thirst. She didn't count on puking it right back up again. Tyler sat in the open side door of the van and shook his head with a bitter smirk.

"Look I don't mind you thinking we're rape artists. I don't even mind you making us waste valuable ammunition to get your attention. But try not to waste the water, okay? It's a lot harder to come by than ammo or a good reputation."

Angie glared at him as she wiped her mouth on her dirty sleeve, flinching again from the stinging on her face. The man sitting in front of her was lean, hard-faced, forty-ish. Both he and his younger-looking friend were dressed like some sort of street corner commandos, the shaggy guy in jeans and a fatigue shirt, him in black jeans, t shirt, and leather jacket. The shaggy guy had a more open face, though she had no doubt he was just as hard as his buddy. Maybe less guarded when he figured he didn't need to be. But Black Leather, he had a look like a slammed door. The only way in was through his eyes: quiet, deeply black. No, not black, more like chocolate. Dark chocolate. But definitely unsweetened

"So I still don't get what happens next." Angie wasn't at all kidding, though a little less certain of a hellish immediate future. Loaded into the rear area of the large, well-appointed (for mercenaries, anyway) van, rehydration and a spell of relative silence had revived her enough to ask the question.

"You can get out right here if you want," Tyler replied shortly. Chris was at the wheel. Angie had rapidly figured out who was pretty much in charge, even if the two of them behaved as "comrades". She did sense that Chris might be the voice of reason when things got crazy.

When Angie didn't reply, Tyler asked "Okay, then, where were you headed? Not that you were going to get there."

"I don't know." An honest answer.

Tyler leaned around from the front seat to look more directly at their passenger. Still filthy and dreadlocked, but more coherent than before. "Lost?"

"No. I mean I don't know where I was going. As in I have no idea. I was running, not _going_."

"Away?"

Well he got that, at least. "Yeah." When Black Leather didn't comment further Angie resumed staring blankly out the window opposite from where she sat slumped on the floor, surrounded by bundles and cases of god knew what.

Tyler prodded, "Not that we're big on formalities, but at some time we might have to tell someone who you are."

Ha ha. "I have a name, if that's what you're asking." Angie was wary of giving out too much information.

"Believe me, I'm not looking for a biography."

"Angela Harper."

Her "host" smiled unexpectedly. "Angela Harper?" He pondered for a moment and nodded to his companion. "Angels and harps. We could use a good omen." His partner laughed and nodded.

Ignoring the cynical attitude Angie observed, "You have me at a disadvantage," figuring neither one of these mercenary troglodytes would rise to the observation.

"You have that backwards," Tyler corrected, "considering your lack of weapons. Free ride, no benefits, that puts _us_ at a disadvantage. So why don't you tell us where you came here from, and why, or we might start to wonder why the lizards just happened to be waiting where you just happened to end up."

Right. Angie's who-cares mood was suddenly adjusted by the renewal of the realization that she was traveling with well-armed strangers, in a who-knew-where man's land, in a world where nothing she ever understood still applied. "Boston."

Big Shaggy at the wheel responded, "Boston's a crater."

She shot to her feet, almost banging her head against the roof. "What!" Angie knew that her own neighborhood was laid waste. "Look, I went home after work and home was in flames, but how could the whole city be…"

"Lizards, that's how," Tyler declared. "And sit down before you fall on your ass."

She gulped a breath and dropped to the floor. She'd left work at the library, grabbed some groceries in Back Bay, and it wasn't until she reached Columbia Road that she saw the flames and smoke, and knew. Well not knew, exactly… she saw the ruin and headed toward the nearest outbound ramp, not thinking, not registering. Just driving. Because though what was happening didn't seem real, it also wasn't exactly a surprise.

"It was just the south part of the city," she protested lamely, "when I left it was just my neighborhood, you probably don't understand the area," Angie could feel her gut contracting as she spoke. "Just the south part", she thought how absurd that sounded, even as she said it. Funny how things like destruction get redefined as "just" your neighborhood.

"Look, I'm sorry," the Shaggy Guy said, absurdly apologetic concerning the circumstances, "they were planning to blast the whole metro area, to teach the East Coast resistance a lesson. You must have got out before they finished it off."

The enormity of the statement left her empty. Finally she asked, "So, where did _you_ guys come out from?"

Tyler's honest answer sounded as empty as Angie felt. "I don't remember."

"Lucky you."

They rode in silence for another twenty miles or so. Tyler glanced over his shoulder at their passenger, who was slumped against he wall of the van, eyes closed. But not asleep.

"For someone on a mystery ride with strangers and a van full of contraband you don't ask many questions."

She opened her eyes and looked at Black Leather looking at her. "What's the point? The answers won't change anything. You just laid it all out… mystery ride, strangers, and contraband. Weapons, no doubt." She just didn't care about who these guys were. Didn't care about much of anything at the moment, in fact. The world had become such a surreal place she wasn't sure anymore what to care about anyway.

"Suit yourself." Tyler turned to face forward, then turned back again. "Maybe _we_ should be asking more questions, though. Like I said, why did a lizard patrol ignore you but try like hell to kill us?"

Angie sighed. She'd decided by now that these guys were either Resistance or mercenaries or both, and figured the questions would be coming soon enough, so she hadn't bothered to volunteer any information on her own. "Sorry, I didn't think to ask them." Not wiseass, just… weary. Black Leather's eyes narrowed. Not amused. Well she wasn't trying to, was she?

"I don't know, okay? I ran outta gas, and I fell asleep for a while, and woke up to you guys fighting. That's it. Maybe they were just about to check me out when you came by."

The shaggy guy nodded toward his partner. "She's got a point."

"Maybe."

"My name's Chris Farber," the shaggy guy told her, glancing in the rearview. "This here's my partner, Ham Tyler."

She wasn't sure she'd heard right. "Ham… like in sandwich?"

He'd heard that line enough for it to get on his last nerve, but Tyler still couldn't sense a sneer in her voice. "Like in 'Hamilton', as in Alexander."

"Oh. Sorry. So your parents were history buffs?" She thought about it for a moment, and decided why not talk like a human being? They'd been nothing but neutral since picking her up, so what the hell.

"Not exactly. More like my family namesake, if you go back far enough."

Interesting pedigree. "Looks like we have a little history in common, Ham Tyler. I'm descended from one of your namesake's nemeses. The final one, in fact."

Tyler shook his head. "Harper? I don't recall that from the history books."

"Burr. As in Aaron. My mother's side, if you go back far enough."

"Maybe I shouldn't be turning my back on you, then," Tyler observed, eyebrows raised.

"I'm no good with a gun. I can't pick my fights, _or_ my targets, worth shit."

Ham smiled a little, something Angie sensed was a rare occurrence. "Good thing you're traveling with professionals, then."

"I kind of got the feeling I was." She closed her eyes again, and blew out a sigh, louder than before. "We sure aren't in Kansas anymore, Toto."

"That where you're from originally?" Chris asked her, not because he thought so but because he was bored.

"Boston. Maybe I should have said we aren't in the BPL anymore."

"BPL?" Farber echoed.

"Boston Public Library," Tyler informed him.

Christ, who _was_ this guy, Angie thought. Obviously a hired gun, but talking US history and libraries?

"Yeah," Angie explained, "I was in the tech department. Computer cataloguing, database management, that kind of stuff. I could mine data and suss out applications and back-door diagnostics like Aaron Burr could backshoot."

Another smile from Tyler, but one he kept to himself. "A regular Conan the Librarian."

"Ha, ha. Not much use for that anymore, I guess."

Farber and Tyler exchanged looks. They were intending to hook up with the West Coast resistance, and anyone with tech skills would be a plus. That is, if she could be trusted.

"Don't be so sure," Tyler observed. "Fighting the lizards takes more kinds of tech than the old-fashioned kind." This time his smile was wicked as he turned to his partner, "Though computers aren't as much fun."

"Look, do you mind?" Angie asked suddenly, "I'm kind of talked-out. Just let me know when you're gonna drop me off and how to get to somewhere I might not get killed."

Tyler didn't turn around to answer. "Useful skills _and_ a closed mouth… I like that in a woman. And the best way not to get killed is to stick with us. We're not pretty, but we're still standing."

"From your mouth to the Visitors' ears. Or gills… or whatever. Can we just shut up now?"

"My pleasure."

* * *

Five hours, one gas-up and a driver-swap later Tyler pulled the van onto a dirt road that took them into a wooded area far from the main road.

"We'll camp here. Another day's driving and we'll get to L.A. I've got a few contacts between here and there, we shouldn't have too much trouble finding the resistance cell, if they're still alive. They're a bunch of rookies, still figuring out how to save their own butts, never mind 'saving the world'."

Angie helped Chris to haul some stuff out of the van. "If they're so shaky, why do you want in?" she asked. She _wanted_ to ask how he got to be such a cynic, but figured that was kind of a stupid question to ask a mercenary, duh-wise.

Ham was laying a fire near a random pile of boulders. "Because they're the only game in town. And as shaky as they are, they've been raiding closer to the top of the lizard food chain than anybody else."

The turn of phrase made Angie shudder. "Great. Speaking of food chain, you got anything to eat?"

"Funny you should mention that," Tyler tossed her a can opener and indicated the box of various canned goods and other supplies Chris had put down near the fire. "Since you can't shoot, you can cook."

She caught the can opener by reflex, stared at it and then at Tyler and Farber. "I guess a woman's place in the revolution hasn't changed much since the 60's."

Her tendency to reduce sarcasm to a neutral observation ticked Tyler off. He didn't much care for passive resistance, it lacked balls. Step up and mouth off, or don't bother.

"Look, lady," and his voice took on the same hardness it had when he and Farber first "invited" her to share their water, "Since we've already eliminated sex and violence from your repertoire, that leaves cooking and cleaning. We don't carry parasites."

Parasites? That was a bit much. "Hey, I didn't ask to come along." Before either man could give up an obvious response Angie continued, "Fine. Considering what's been happening around me lately it'll be nice to do something I'm _good_ at." She meant it. Running from aliens, ducking firefights, riding in a van with mercenaries… her life had become a sci-fi action comic and she'd never liked those at all. C_ooking_, now that was something she could relate to.

While Tyler and Farber sorted through some things in the van and discussed their plans for L.A. Angie threw together some canned vegetables and freeze dried chicken (what a collection, she thought, field rations and dent-sale stuff) and managed to cook up some rice with a can of chicken broth, using only a little water to dilute it. Mustn't waste the water, she remembered ruefully.

They sat on some wooden cases to eat with camp gear-type plates and utensils.

"Do I want to know what I'm sitting on?" Angie asked.

Farber shook his head negative. "Let's just say this is a non-smoking area."

When she glanced uneasily at the fire Tyler actually laughed out loud. "Jesus, Conan, you _are_ over your head, aren't you."

She blinked at him. "I'd have to reach up to touch bottom." Tyler's smugness faded.

"Well this beats lizard chow, anyway," Chris offered.

"You were fresh out of rat," Angie informed them both.

Finally, Tyler thought, a glimmer of wiseass. But only a glimmer. Those one-way eyes of hers worked too well to reveal anything more.

* * *

When everything was cleaned up, and packed back into boxes Chris dropped a couple of sleeping bags out on the ground near where he and Tyler had been sitting engaged in yet more discussion and planning.

"There's an air mattress and a bunch of blankets inside," Chris indicated the interior of the van. It was well into spring, but nights could still be cold in the middle of nowhere.

"Thanks. What time we leaving?" Not that it mattered much, since she had no idea where they'd actually be going and had lost her watch days ago. She'd never been to the West coast, though she supposed if she'd had enough gas she'd probably have ended up in L.A. on her own.

"We'll let you know."

As she walked to the van Angie observed miserably to nobody in particular, "Gawd, I can't even remember the last time I was able to wake up by myself."

Tyler's voice followed her in the darkness, a verbal smirk. "I thought we settled that issue."

She pivoted and returned to the circle of firelight so both men could see her. "I _mean_, I can't remember the last time I just slept as long as I needed to, and woke up because _I_ woke up, on my own, and not because there was pounding on the door, or a search raid, or sirens, or explosions, or screams, or..." Angie stopped herself, feeling dangerously close to an edge she didn't want to visit and not noticing the look of recognition on the faces of both men.

"Or a firefight," Farber added soberly.

"Yeah. Or a firefight."

After a moment Tyler spoke. "I stand corrected."

Angie moved to stand directly in front where Tyler sat so she could look him in the eye. "Maybe you've been at this kind of thing so long it's not a horror movie to you anymore like it is to me. You can call me Conan the Librarian and I won't snap back because maybe all I'm good for in this 'new world' is comic relief. I'm not an ad hoc guerrilla or a weapons specialist," she told him, "but I won't slow you down and I won't sell you out. And if we part company in L.A., good luck to you both. Me, I'm lost in the ultimate wilderness without a map and right now you're the closest thing that passes for native guides. The last I saw of any life I could recognize as mine, as _real_, turned to smoke in the rearview, and I can't seem to remember even when that was. So don't expect too much of me because I've never read Soldier of Fortune, and I can't deliver like a resistance fighter, and I can't _pretend_ I can. And… and," she ran out of words, not knowing anymore what she was trying to say. She was so fucking _tired_.

Tyler's voice was so quiet Angie almost found it soothing. "Point taken. Get some sleep, Angel."

"Angela," she corrected. "You can call me Angie."

"Get some sleep, Angie." But he liked his choice better. They needed a good omen.

After she'd climbed into the van Chris turned to Ham. "You don't need to mess with her head like that, brother. She's right, we're not exactly on equal ground here."

Tyler stared into the fire. "She's wrong. It's still a horror movie. You get some sleep too. I'll take first watch."

Two hours later when Tyler leaned into the van to grab the canteen he heard a stifled whimper from just beyond the door. Moving to one side, he let the feeble light of the campfire wash the interior. Angie was asleep, curled up in a ball on the air mattress, clutching one of the blankets against her mouth in a bunched-up knot. From what little he could see her face was screwed up in a grimace of… pain, fear, loss, something. Something all too recognizable, now that he saw it in front of him. She was also shaking with the cold, having lost the other two or three blankets he could see jumbled on the floor next to her. Ham climbed into the van on his knees with a stealth that had taken decades to perfect. He knew he wouldn't wake her, he was too good at what he did to wake up a sleeping stranger. He'd killed enough to know. After spreading the blankets over her he added another from a pile in the corner. The trembling subsided but the whimpers continued, as regular as breathing. Before he could think about it, he'd reached out a hand to lightly touch her head. She didn't wake up, but mumbled in her sleep, "gone?"

"Yeah," Ham told her quietly, "they're gone," and the whimpering was replaced by the slow, even respiration of sleep. He didn't want to know her story. How different could it be from all the others?

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, and heard Chris call in a stage whisper,

"Everything okay?"

Ham took the canteen and returned to the campfire. "Yeah. Just needed a drink." He took a slug and passed it to his partner, who was eyeing him curiously. "What?"

"Nothing. My watch. Your turn to get some shuteye."

* * *

Angie woke partway, stretching a little and reaching and trying to orient herself… where? She couldn't remember. Then she did. She'd fallen asleep on an air mattress in the back of a van driven by two dodgy men she'd met less than a day before. Cold, she remembered being cold, then warm again, and something else… no, the thought wouldn't crystallize. But she wasn't there now, on an air mattress in the back of a van, this was a bed. A decently-sized bed. True, she was still dressed in the filthy clothes she'd fled in, her hair a bound-up ratty mess, but the sheets were smooth and clean, and she felt the weight of blankets, and a bedspread or quilt too. Warm, she woke up warm for the first time since before the Visitors had commandeered the gas and electric utilities, randomly shutting off buildings, now and then, here and there, to discourage residents from remaining in any one place too long. Frequent moves meant loose associations. Angie had stayed put, though, and it had been so cold…

She poked her face from under the covers, and peeked out into the dim room. Chris Farber was sprawled on another, similar, bed next to hers. He took up the whole thing, covers flung loosely over him. Across the smallish room Ham Tyler lay snoring quietly on a fold-out couch, fully dressed and shoulder holster exposed where the black leather jacket gapped away from his shoulder. When did they get here? She remembered a dream, about when she was a little girl, she'd fallen asleep in the car and Daddy had carried her in to bed. It _had_ to have been a dream. Warm, with no reason to wake, Angie slid back into sleep.

* * *

"_Ham, Chris. I expect you last night." _

"_So did we, Sascha. Unexpected delay. Look, we have an extra guest. You got a triple?"_

"_I have double with fold out. That okay?"_

"_Sure, thanks. We have business tomorrow, can you take care of our guest? She's about yea tall," Ham raised his hand to a vague height, "kind of medium size, she can use a clean set of clothes."_

"'_She'? Ham Tyler, you are holding out."_

"_You have a rich fantasy life, Sascha."_

"_Out here, is all I got. You look beat."_

"_Beat, but not beaten. Thanks, Sascha."_

"_No worries. Sleep well. Tell your 'guest' ring 0 tomorrow, I will look after what she needs."_

_They'd gone back to the van, Chris grabbing a couple of duffle bags and heading to the room with the key. Ham bent down and jiggled Angie's shoulder. "Rise and shine."_

"_Nooooo…" she'd slurred in protest, shrinking away. When had she last felt safe enough to sleep that deeply, Tyler wondered. When had anybody, who wasn't fully armed? _

"_Okay, this time you ride for free." He scooped her up and lifted her out of the van, using his back to slide the door shut. She reached around his neck like a five-year-old being carried to bed, head dropped on his shoulder, no sound but a quiet breath. When they got into the room Farber had already pulled down the bed farthest from the door._

"_Drop Sleeping Beauty there, bro."_

_He did, and pulled the covers up. She scrunched down under, burrowing deep into the pillow._

"_You take the other bed," Tyler directed as he pulled open the sofa, then double-locked the door. "No watch tonight, Sascha's got us covered. Christ, I need a good night's sleep."_

"_You said a mouthful." Chris settled on the other bed, leaving his shoes on. Tyler did the same on the pull-out._

"_So I think maybe we should drop her off somewhere." Farber ventured._

"_You got any ideas where to drop off a refugee who can i.d. us?" When Chris didn't answer he went on, "Fine. Then we do our thing tomorrow and come back, and take her with us tomorrow, unless you want her spewing to the next lizard patrol that runs into her."_

"_Hey man, no worries." It was one of the things that kept them in perfect balance, the need never to explain.

* * *

_

Some time later Angie was wakened by the brutal need to pee. She slipped out of bed and found the bathroom, closing the door quietly so she didn't wake the others. When she came out she paused at the fold-out where Ham lay deeply asleep, no longer snoring. She studied his face, faintly illuminated by the parking lot light that filtered through the cheap curtains. The "slammed door" look was gone, the perpetually furrowed brow and narrowed eyes relaxed. Now she had a clearer look at the scar near his left eye, and wondered what wild story might account for it. When she looked at his hands, one spread loosely across his stomach and the other flung out to the side, she realized it was the first time she'd seen them when they weren't clenched around something, or gesturing tensely. She also noticed he didn't look at all vulnerable like most sleeping people do. Just… well kind of "ready", like a computer on "standby". Before returning to bed she picked up the spare quilt where it had slid to the floor and carefully draped it over him.

Not carefully enough, apparently. As she crawled back into her own bed she heard Tyler whisper, "Thanks, Angel."

Too embarrassed to respond, she burrowed into the pillow and went back to sleep.


	2. Day Two

_**DAY TWO

* * *

**_

Farber closed the motel room door silently behind him as he followed Ham to the van. It was barely light. The two men didn't speak as they climbed in the van and drove to a pre-arranged location fifteen miles into the hills. There they stopped and waited. In twenty minutes or so a motorcycle roared up. The tall denim-clad rider dismounted and pulled off his helmet to reveal long brown hair pulled back with a leather tie. He wore shades under the faceguard of the helmet, and a neatly trimmed beard.

"You're late, Reno" Tyler snapped.

"Bullshit. I'm right on time. Always were a tightass, Tyler," and he nodded a greeting to Farber before pulling a large manila envelope out of his bike's saddlebag.

"Keeps me alive. Now what have you got for us?"

Reno fanned out some photos he'd taken from the envelope and laid them out on the seat of his bike. "Here's where they've set up, under an old hydro plant. For a bunch of amateurs it's not bad. They hit this processing center," he pointed to the second photo, "did some damage, too. Word is they're going for a bigger strike at the main center near the shipyard." A third photo, and some maps of the area followed. "So what're you gonna do with all this?"

"Hook up with 'em if we can," Chris explained.

"If it makes sense," Tyler cut in. "I'm not about to get roped into a bunch of weekend heroes whose biggest firepower is good intentions. But if they can organize and their scientist leaders of theirs have some guts to go along with those big brains, we might really be able to drive those lizards out of town." That he relished the possibility showed in one of his rare smiles. "Okay, Reno, take us through the rest."

They opened the back of the van to spread out more plans, and settled in to plan their arrival strategy.

* * *

When Angie woke up for real, the clock read 9:30 am. God, when was the last time she'd slept that late, that soundly? Both her "hosts" were gone. She remembered hearing Ham mention some connection that would be giving them information on the L.A. resistance they were planning to find. On the table between the two beds was a thermos and a folded piece of paper. Ignoring the paper for the moment, Angie sat up, reached for the thermos, and unscrewed the top. Coffee, strong, black and just what she hadn't had for at least a week. She flipped the cap over and filled it, drained it, and repeated the operation. Whoever these guys really were, they weren't savages. It was perfect. Thus fortified, she opened the paper and read the short message printed in crisp, no _severe_, capitals.

"Dial O. Someone will take care of you."

No names, no indication of when they'd be back. Of course not, you dope. Mercenaries and resistance fighters don't leave such details. She laughed out loud, also for the first time in a week. It was all too surreal. Crawling out of bed, she reached for the phone and pressed O.

"Office." A male voice, accented. Hard to tell where, from one word.

"Hi, I'm Angie. I don't know what room I'm in, but Ham Tyler said somebody would 'take care of me'?"

"Ah, yes. Ham and Chris last night say 'Angela will need clean clothes' and some other things. I will bring to room now, okay?"

Polish? Russian? Whatever. Who cared. "Sure. Thanks." She went into the bathroom and managed to wash her face and hands after a fashion, and undo the ratty braid, combing her fingers through it. Amazing, she worked the major knots out. Shit, she was so filthy dirty she made her own skin crawl!

Moments later there was a knock on the door. "Sascha," said the voice.

The man who stood outside the door was compact, muscular. He had dark hair, a scruffy something-o'clock-shadow, a gold earring in one ear. He was dressed in a generic sort of "manager" shirt and blue jeans, and held a large cardboard box.

"Angela," he said, with a smile that made Angie vaguely uneasy.

"That's me. Come in."

Sascha put the box on the sofa (Ham was obviously a stickler for order, Angie decided, having refolded it before he left) and pulled out a paper bag. "Clothes," he said. "Should fit okay." Then another bag. "Hairbrush, shampoo, lady-things." She couldn't imagine what that meant, but was relieved when she peeked inside to see it was just deodorant, soap, and a comb and brush.

"Thanks, Sascha. If I don't get clean soon I'm gonna die." She waited for him to leave, but he stood in front of her, that strange smile working up to something.

"So, Angela," he said pseudo-casually, "you have known Ham long time?"

She walked to the other side of the room and dropped her stuff on the bed. "No, just a couple days. I sort of hitched a ride."

Sascha approached her a little too easily for her comfort. "Ham does not travel much with women. Not for business, right?"

Oh, shit. "Look," she began, "I don't know what he told you but you got it wrong." Just like a leather-wearing gun toting pair of testosterone buddies to wink-wink-nudge-nudge about their passenger. Assholes.

The smile morphed from friendly to the far side of suggestive. "What is to say? Ham, he is serious man, dangerous work. His friend Chris, too. Even serious dangerous men must have time for fun, yes? Do you have fun?"

He sounded like the goddamn Visitor patrols, aping macho behavior to harass and intimidate the women they encountered. She'd gotten enough of that crap to last her a lifetime in the months before she fled. Rested now, having felt safe in a bizarre sort of way, this guy was pissing her off. She wasn't into the kind of wordplay that Tyler seemed to favor, finding pissing contests to be juvenile and boring. She'd always preferred to walk away shaking her head in amusement to engaging in one-upmanship with a moron. But this was a new world, wasn't it.

"Look, Sascha, thanks for all the stuff, but when Ham told me you'd take care of me I think he meant you'd drop it off and leave me to take a shower and take it easy, right?" She took his arm and tried to propel him to the door. "You probably have things to do in the office."

He stood nailed to the spot. "No worries, baby, this is safe house. Good for fellow travelers, good for getting information." He stepped into her, clenching his arm to prevent her from pulling her hand away. "Good for fun."

Right. Enough good manners. "Sascha, I asked you nice, now I'm telling you. You have the _wrong_ idea about me, and even if you didn't, I still don't owe you anything for this stuff. Ham owes you. Now get _out_."

Sascha's demeanor of low-rent seducer evaporated. He grabbed Angie's arms roughly and snarled, "Ham can pay by sharing piece, would not be first time." He tried to kiss her, but she shoved herself away.

Growling, "No worries, you are dirty? We will take shower," he seized her by the shirt front and the buttons ripped loose.

No one around, no one to scream for, Angie's brain spun in panic. Then she fell back on what she'd learned working as a cocktail waitress while she was going to tech school.

"Hey, hey," she purred, losing her stiffness and actually drawing Sascha toward her by his belt. "Just playing hard to get, comrade, no need to get ugly." The pig's smile returned and he wrapped an arm around her waist.

"Nice, we compare notes when Ham gets back…" and so awash in hormones was Sascha that he didn't notice Angie reach one hand behind her, and never saw the heavy ceramic lamp coming over her shoulder.

* * *

It took her almost five minutes to drag the unconscious, bleeding Russian, or Pole, or whatever, to the door and roll him out. She double locked it, shot the security bolt, and dragged the sofa across in front of it. Then she paused, wondering for a moment if the guy was dead, and was surprised to find herself neutral, either way. New world, new rules. She got the "lady-things" and clothes and headed to the bathroom, feeling very post-modern. But halfway to the door she stopped, turned, and peered out the peephole. No good, he'd been on the ground and the angle was bad. So she went to the high window and stood on tiptoe, straining to see the front door. There he was, sort of rolling his head back and forth, struggling to get up, and Angie was flooded with relief. Leave the killing to the professionals. Shit. She froze then, figuring he'd blast his way through he door and finish her off, being part of that lawless circle she'd been getting a nervous mental picture of recently. But no, she could hear an unholy groan, the accented voice grumbling "Bitch!" and other things in a language she didn't understand. Russian, or Polish, or whatever.

Satisfied she hadn't committed murder, she went into the bathroom, threw her clothes in the trash, and had the longest, hottest, _best_ shower of her adult life.

It was just after noon when Tyler and Farber pulled the van back into the motel parking area. They'd picked up some food at a nearby variety store, and stopped by the motel office to drop off a bottle of vodka by way of gratitude for Sascha's accommodations (such as they were) and the favor of keeping a discreet eye on Angie in their absence.

Both stared in amazement to see the man in question slumped in a chair behind his front desk, holding a bag of ice from the nearby machine against his bloody head.

"Man, what happened to you?" Chris asked, then shot a hard look at Tyler. "Lizards been through here?" He jumped to the window to scan the parking lot.

"Visitor, hell, yes, crazy fucking visitor you brought." Sascha growled as he dropped the bag of ice and dragged himself to his feet to seize the bottle from Ham. He twisted the cap off savagely and tossed it aside, then swilled a good three or four long swallows before stabbing his finger at Tyler and declaring, "Your bitch is crazy! I try to make nice, she do this," he pointed to an enormous lump on the side of his head, still oozing blood.

Farber stood mute, and Tyler's eyes widened. "_'My_ bitch'?" He glanced at Farber and they both shot a look out the door toward their room. Ham's eyes narrowed and his voice lowered.

"You wanna tell me what you're talking about?"

Sascha regarded the other two uneasily, the realization dawning that maybe like that crazy bitch told him, he'd gotten it all wrong. "I bring stuff, like you ask. And I make nice."

"Define 'nice'," Ham invited, knowing already what he was going to hear.

"You know, _nice_… I think, Ham has lady travel with him, and Chris, she must be, you know… _friend_, along for ride, for fun, for…" he struggled for an accurate phrase, his head pounding now with blunt force trauma _and_ vodka, "R&R?"

Farber looked ready to bolt for the room, his concerns obvious. Okay, this lady was a little spacey and he wasn't necessarily on the same page as Tyler regarding her coming with them, but that didn't make her fair game… he was stopped by Ham's restraining hand, and his laughter.

Tyler wasn't even trying to keep a straight face, "You made a move on her and she clocked you?" He leaned in to get a better look at Sascha's head. "With _what_?"

"Lamp."

"She busted a _lamp_ upside your head?" Chris guffawed. "Oh, bro, I take it back," he told Ham, "she's a keeper!"

Suddenly Tyler's humor evaporated. He pulled a fistful of change out of his pocket and flung it on the counter. "Here, for the lamp. I'm sure it was priceless." Then he took a fistful of Sascha, by the collar, and pulled him up close, enjoying the other man's wince of pain. "Maybe next time you'll know how to treat a guest." He released the collar abruptly. Sascha stumbled and grabbed the desk for support.

"Crazy bitch!" he called after Farber and Tyler as they strode to their room. "Is good thing you and I are friends! Good thing we are on _same side_!"

"Not much," Tyler growled under his breath as he put the key in the lock. It turned, but the door didn't budge.

"Probably has it bolted, bro. Can you blame her?"

Right. Tyler knocked. "Hey, open up." No response.

Angie's face, alarmingly clean and fresh, appeared at the window. She opened it a crack.

"Get lost! You told that asshole I was your 'piece' and he figured you wouldn't mind sharing!"

Both men shook their heads. "We told him to take you some clothes and things, that's all," Chris assured her.

"Oh yeah, 'lady things', right."

Ham and Chris exchanged a puzzled look. What the hell?

Chris approached the window. "Look, no question he's scum, it goes with the territory. But we had no idea he'd do this, and we set him straight."

"You mean he's _not_ dead?" Angie asked brightly. Clean now as well as rested, she felt up to a rare show of bravado and added darkly, "I shoulda hit him harder."

"He won't bother you again. In fact I don't think he'll bother _anyone_ again. So let us in. We got our plans set for L.A. and have to start early tomorrow."

Angie considered this. She had no options. She was stuck with them, and them with her. They hadn't given her any reason to be afraid of them, but…

"Why should I trust you? You left me alone with that sleazeball. 'Someone will take care of you.' Not _much_!"

Abruptly Ham shouldered Chris aside. "We brought food. Let us in or you get nothing, and we'll leave in the morning anyway."

She had to admit, she was beginning to appreciate his style. A minimalist, with a bullshit tolerance threshold even below hers. And she was suddenly, painfully aware that she hadn't eaten since the night before.

"That's blackmail," she accused.

Tyler looked like he'd won the lottery as he smiled that tight, wicked smile. "That's right."

Game over. Angie opened the door and stood back to let them in. She wore a purple sweatshirt and cranberry colored chinos that Sascha had brought her.

"You look like that kiddie dinosaur," Tyler commented as he put the bags down on a nearby table.

"Bet _he_ never busted up a former KGB commando," Chris remarked with a grin.

Angie's mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. "_KGB_, really?"

"Yeah, really," Tyler told her as he opened a drawer and took out the Glock he'd stashed there for quick access. "Maybe I should've told you about this."

She shook her head. "I told you, I'm no good with guns."

"Pretty handy with a lamp, though," Tyler grinned when he saw the broken pieces piled in the trash, the crumpled shade lying next to it. Then he handed Angie the bag of sandwiches and drinks they'd picked up. "Here, a deal's a deal."

When they'd finished eating Chris asked Angie, "So now you're clean and you're fed and you took out a KGB agent. What more could anyone ask for?"

Suddenly she felt at loose ends, and very homesick. "How about a ride home?"

Ham reminded her casually, "We're headed West. Besides, home's gone."

She stared at the floor then, her response was barely a whisper. "I know."

The look on her face made him wish he'd kept his mouth shut.

* * *

The rest of the evening passed quickly. After the "dinner" wrappers and bottles had been dumped in the trash Ham looked at his watch and announced, "We're on the road tomorrow before first light."

Chris got up and headed for the door. "See you later."

This was a little jarring to Angie, who asked, "Where you going?" while trying not to sound uneasy.

"One of us has to sleep in the van tonight. We picked up a little extra 'equipment' today, and Sascha's probably polished off the bottle we gave him so he's no good to us."

Like he ever was, Angie thought. She wasn't uneasy about this new arrangement exactly, just… she didn't know. She'd gotten used to the open/closed sort of balance of the two men together, it felt safe.

Tyler silenced her with a level look and answered her unasked question. "And Farber's bigger than me."

Chris smiled smugly. "'night all. If he gives you any trouble, there's another lamp next to the bed."

After he'd left and Ham was busy going over his notes and maps Angie rummaged through the bags of stuff that she'd been given and announced, "Hey, no pj's."

Tyler rolled his eyes without looking up. "No teddy bear, either. In case you hadn't noticed this isn't a family camping trip." Then he thought, _Shit. Maybe she lost family in Boston, too._ Still absorbed in his details he added, "We don't sleep in our clothes because it's comfortable, Angel. If something happens we have to roll fast, no time to swap the bunny slippers for combat boots."

Angie busted out laughing, and Tyler looked up as if she'd begun reciting the Gettysburg Address in Greek. It hadn't occurred to him that she had any unrehearsed laughter in her.

"I dunno, Tyler," she snickered, "I didn't take you for the bunny slipper type."

"Not me, him," Ham deadpanned and nodded toward the closed door. "Ask him about 'em sometime."

"Sure, right before I run like hell." She pulled down her bed. "So am I allowed to take my shoes off?" She hadn't needed to toss her sneakers along with the rest of her clothes (excepting her bra and panties that she washed in the sink and dried with the hairdryer in the bathroom, such "lady things" obviously having been beyond the procurement abilities of three hired guns).

With exaggerated patience he stopped his strategizing to lock her in a narrow stare. "Okay, but keep the socks."

She crawled into bed muttering, "Yeah, yeah, every second counts."

"If they didn't, you wouldn't have made it this far." This time he didn't care if it sounded harsh. The last thing they needed was for any of them to get too at ease with things.

After that they ignored one another. An hour or so later, satisfied all the details had been worked out, Ham killed the light and tried to get some sleep.


	3. Day Three

_**DAY THREE: MORNING**_

* * *

Chris had turned the TV on as he and Ham were moving their supplies from the motel room to the van. Angie did a last sweep under the bed for anything they might have missed and as she stood again the aerial view of a city imploding caught her eye. It looked like one of those controlled demolitions, where a building collapses into its own footprint, only much, much bigger. It _was_ a whole city, or most of it, and as the camera pulled back she caught a glimpse of blue water to the side. A voice intoned, "This is the promise of a new beginning, the eradication of terrorist strongholds soon to be replaced by a new and shining city, raised by the Visitors."

"My god, what's that?" she breathed.

Ham shot a glance over his shoulder as he and Farber lugged a last case of weapons out the door. "Boston, looks like. Sascha said they were caving it in today, gonna rebuild it as a lizard city." They grunted their way out to heave the case in the van.

Angie stood motionless, not even breathing. _Boston?_ Where she'd grown up, where she'd lived and worked, it was her home, those were her friends, her _life_. Sure, she'd seen the fires when she left, but it had registered in her mind like a "small" disaster, a few buildings, something that could be rebuilt after the Visitors were defeated (as if she knew how that would happen). Like Europe, after WWII. Rebuilt, repaired. Home again.

And as she watched, it was gone. Nothing left but a deep dirty hole with dust settling, miles and miles across. Even the harbor seemed to darken as she watched.

Chris had come to the door to tell her to get a move on, Ham was firing up the van. When he saw Angie, pale and gasping, staring blankly, he called back to Tyler.

"Hey bro, I think we got a problem."

Angie sank down on the end of the bed, still staring at the screen with eyes so wide they seemed to fill her face. "It's really happening," she rasped, "it's really happening," and silent gasping began, each one a separate strangling sound that bent her a little lower until she was doubled over her knees in crash position. Farber returned to the van as Tyler stepped into the room.

He picked up the remote from the table and clicked off the TV before standing in front of Angie. She didn't seem to notice, so he knelt in front of her. "I thought you knew."

She raised her head suddenly and her response was nearly a scream. "You thought I _knew!_ How could I _know_, how could I know my whole life and friends and home could be _gone?_" She gestured wildly toward the now-dark TV screen. "That's _me_, how can I be _gone_ like that? How can there be nothing left?"

Ham saw panic in her face, and despair, and brutal comprehension. And finally, rage. He'd seen it before, that ugly moment when it all crystallized and someone who thought she had a clue learned she'd crossed over to a whole new "normal" and there was no going back.

"I thought it would stop," she insisted, "I thought it would _stop_, why didn't anyone make it _stop!"_

Tyler slid closer and gripped her chin in his hand. "Listen, there's people working on that, it's _gonna_ stop."

She was looking right through him, terrified and uncomprehending, and he realized he was pressing hard enough to mark her face. He would have withdrawn his hand, but Angie wrapped her fingers around his wrist and leaned into it, sliding off the bed to collapse on the floor in front of him.

She stared at him with wild eyes, waiting for him to say something, to impart some of that savage wisdom he seemed to store behind that closed-up look. Why wouldn't he _explain?_

"You know this, you've _been_ here before, tell me what it _means_," she begged, staring hard into his eyes and seeing nothing she was looking for, "nothing makes sense anymore, it has to _mean something_!"

"It doesn't mean shit," he told her in a hard voice, "What happens, happens, and you deal with it. No meaning, no sense, nothing to figure out." He spoke as if reciting a field manual. "You either live through it or you don't."

When the backed-up emotion came boiling out of her in raging sobs it was like every grieving aftermath he'd ever seen. They all were the same, everywhere he and Chris ever went in their "work" somebody's world was ending for no sane reason and everybody wanted to know why and thought the man with the gun had the answers. How pathetic was that? The longer he lived and the more he lived through, the fewer answers they had and the less sense it made. No lessons learned; the only net gains were enemies and expertise.

"You deal with it," he repeated, to her or to himself, it didn't much matter.

"_Not_ _good_ _enough_," she erupted bitterly.

"I know."

Angie felt like she was losing her mind, like she was going to scatter in a million pieces. She clenched her fists together and inhaled an impossibly deep ragged breath, ready to blow it out in a wild scream.

And then this stranger, this armed and dangerous and cynical mercenary man had his arms around her, as silent now as she was not, one hand at the back of her neck, the other spread wide on her back. No empty words, none of the clichéd comforts that would be all wrong anyway. He was just… still. And he _held_ her still, and said just one word: "Breathe." When she didn't respond he shook her hard, once, and she heard him repeat closer to her ear, _"Breathe."_

So, steadied by strong hands and silence, she did. Remarkably Angie found she was able simply to breathe in, and out, and the wild racing in her head slowed. In a very few moments she was calm and quiet again, if feeling a little bruised and uneasy inside.

When Ham let her go she sat back on her heels and regarded him with puzzlement. "Who _are_ you?"

A flicker of something crossed his face for barely a heartbeat. Then the wry hard look returned. "Nobody special." When he saw she was about to pursue the issue he added, "It's not magic, it's just a little Buddhist trick I learned from a buddy in Bangkok. To think clearly you have to focus. Sit still, be quiet, and breathe. Works every time."

It did sound kind of like something one of her friends had been into. "Uh-huh." She was still a little dazed by her crazed outburst.

He got up and pulled her to her feet. "C'mon, Angel, we're burning daylight." As if the previous five minutes hadn't happened.

Angie followed him out the door. "Why do you keep _calling_ me that?" she asked. It was a little annoying, and more than a little embarrassing.

"I told you, Angela Harper, harps and angels, we could use a good omen."

As Ham slid the panel door open to let her in Angie stood in front of him, incredulous.

"I'm a good omen. Yeah, right." Considering what she'd been through and how she'd just melted down it was a ridiculous notion. "You can't be serious."

"Pickings are slim lately," Tyler observed drily with what she was beginning to recognize as his patented smug smirk. "Now get your ass in or we'll leave you with Sascha, and he's running low on lamps."

Chris turned to look at Angie where she sat in the back on a case of ammo. He pointed at the darkening smudges on her chin, figuring they might be from yesterday's struggle with Sascha. "Battle scars?"

"Focus wounds," she told him.

When she caught Ham's faint smile in the rearview, she knew it was the right answer.

* * *

_**DAY THREE: HIGH NOON**_

Sometime before noon Ham turned off the secondary state road and headed into what looked like small farm country. Another few miles, and he pulled off into a wooded area.

"Time to commune with nature," he announced as he and Chris climbed out of the vehicle. Angie sat hemmed in by more boxes, bags, and cases than the day before. Ham leaned back in the driver's side door and told her, "You too, unless you're part camel."

"What are you _talking_ about," she demanded. She was cranky and bored, tired of being packed in the back like cargo.

"Tap a kidney." No response. "Take. A. Leak." He widened his eyes and enunciated each word as if addressing a simpleton, then climbed back in and leaned between the seats, reaching a hand out. "Don't worry, there's plenty of foliage to guard your virtue."

God, she was getting tired of being used for verbal target practice. Once Tyler knew she had no real taste for verbal swordplay he never let up. Nevertheless she grabbed his hand and let him pull her forward and out, and would have fallen on her face if he hadn't caught her by the back of her sweatshirt just in time.

"Shit, they raise 'em graceful in Beantown, huh?"

_That_ got her last nerve. "'_Beantown'_? Only tourists and TV call it 'Beantown'."

Tyler's smug grin made his pleasure evident. He'd found a button to push. "Five minutes. If you get lost, we're leaving without you."

"Lucky me," she muttered as she turned to take in their surroundings.

"Sorry, I didn't hear that?" He was dying for a comeback, because she was so determined not to give him one.

"Nothing. See you in five."

The two men walked off together and Angie found some dense pushes where she could "tap a kidney" in private. When she returned to the van Tyler and Farber were discussing something, pistols in hand. As she got closer Tyler informed her, "Another mile or two and we'll be deep in Lizard Land. That means we're gonna be targets because we're strangers. Which means we gotta be ready."

Angie saw they'd pulled a box from under the passenger seat and were grabbing clips, jamming them into every available pocket. Then they pulled out larger clips, taped them together facing up-and-down, and took out a couple of Uzi's. At least she thought that's what they were: short, ugly and certainly automatic.

"Since you can't shoot you're gonna have to drive. Can you handle a stick in a rig like this?" Tyler nodded over his shoulder at the slightly oversize Chevy van they'd been trapped in for days, hours, miles. Drive? Hell, yeah!

"Yeah, I drove something like this back home."

"Delivery?" Chris asked.

"Bookmobile," she announced with a straight face.

The two men exchanged looks of fatalistic amusement and Chris crawled back into the van to lay out more ammunition and check the latches on a couple of small sliding panels Angie hadn't noticed before.

"Our kind of magazines are a little more volatile than you're used to," Tyler warned her.

"I said I can handle it." Finally, something she could do better than cook, only these two had no idea. She held out her hand for the keys and Ham dropped them into her palm.

He was doubtful, but they really needed two on weapons and since they had a third along for the ride, and she'd be in the way anywhere but the front seat, the options were limited.

"I'll navigate," he told her flatly, "When I say turn, you turn. When I say stop, you stop. When the shooting starts I'll jump in back with Chris, but you listen to every word I say, got that?" That slammed door look was firmly locked in place again.

"Fine, you're in charge. I have no idea where we are anyway."

Angie followed Tyler's directions for the next few miles. She was impressed with the way the van drove; the one she used in Boston was like driving a rusty tank. "Hey, this handles nice. Custom job, huh?"

Farber's voice drifted out of the back , "You have no idea."

"Actually, by now I think I do."

They'd only gone a little farther when the blast of a disruptor blew a chunk out of the road, just missing Angie's door. "_Shit!_" She swerved to the right, almost putting them on two wheels.

"Take it easy!" Tyler barked, "it came from up there on the left, that low ridge."

"I'm fine," she recovered control quickly and sped up. "There's a place up there," she saw a mirror image of the left-hand ridge ahead on the right; the road must have been cut between them, trees and a small rock ledge closer to them than the one the shot came from.

Chris had his high-res field glasses pointed out one of the small hatches on the left side of the van. "I see one vehicle, must be a random patrol out this far. Obviously not expecting anyone but lizards."

Ham was already in back, the other hatch door locked open, his Cobra pistol and Uzi ready. "On my mark," he ordered Angie, "cut left, and we can take them out, three, two, one," before he could get to "mark" Angie had gunned the engine and headed off the road toward the sheltered position Ham and Chris hadn't seen, and she hadn't mentioned.

"_Hey!_" Ham made a grab for the back of her seat but was knocked back again by the bouncing of the wheels on rough ground, "I said _left!"_

Pumped with fear Angie snapped back, "Shut up and shoot!" With disruptor fire coming faster, some glancing off the roof and reinforced side panels, Tyler had no choice but to jam his Uzi out the hatch and pour fire on the Visitor ATV as it started to move.

Ignoring Tyler's futile orders and shouted obscenities, Angie headed straight for the low group of trees and rocks. At the last minute she jerked both the wheel and the stick and executed a near-perfect dogleg turn that skidded them alongside the formation, leaving the sliding panel door closest to the flat rocky rise with a few feet to spare. The front end tore away some tree branches but the windshield remained intact. She scrambled out the passenger door and yanked open the sliding panel door to give Ham and Chris room to back up, then peered through the windows in the cab to see where the patrol was. The white vehicle was bearing down on them, though the rough terrain off the road was preventing accurate aim. Chris had ripped open a box and handed some impressive looking throwables to Ham, keeping a couple for himself.

"_Down!" _Tyler roared at Angie and flat-handed the back of her head, knocking her to the ground at his and Farber's feet. He armed one of the specialized grenades and Chris gave him a shove up so he was standing on the threshold of the side door. Taking quick aim, he reared back and flung the grenade over the roof of the van. It landed short, but the explosion forced the patrol vehicle to roll. Ham found another grenade in his hand almost before he reached back again. This one landed squarely in the middle of the overturned Visitor vehicle, and the shrapnel caught the four patrol troops as they tried to scuttle to safety. He held another ready to go, but seeing no more movement Tyler disarmed it and handed it down to Farber and dropped to his feet on the ground again.

When the echoes had died Angie struggled to her feet. Farber circled around, gun ready, to survey both the shattered Visitor vehicle and their own, which had suffered no damage except a couple of scratches from tree limbs. Tyler remained immobile in front of Angie, his face a mix of blind rage and (unpleasant) surprise. She expected a verbal explosion driven by adrenalin and pure anger, but he seemed beyond words.

Taking advantage of the lull, Angie shrugged as Chris rejoined them wearing a rare expression of his own that she couldn't quite identify. Rubbing the throbbing spot at the back of her head she reminded them mildly, "I told you I could drive."

Eyes narrowed, Tyler stepped up to stand looking straight down into her face and for a moment she thought he might actually hit her, and this time not to save her life. Even Farber seemed ready to reach out to pull him back. But having suddenly and completely given in to the surreal experience of the past weeks and months, and especially the past ten minutes, Angie didn't flinch. Finally, _she_ had something she could be smug about, and even a gun toting bully wasn't going to spoil it for her. But Tyler surprised her.

"A bookmobile," he growled in a very low voice.

Sensing she was safe Angie allowed herself to feel extremely pleased. "I guess you've never done Back Bay at rush hour." Now Chris Farber joined Ham to stare at her. It was obvious they were beginning to wonder if what little she'd told them was the truth.

"I'm gonna ask once," Tyler intoned in the dead-level cold voice he reserved for interrogation. "Where did you learn to drive like that." No question mark.

"Okay, okay, no I didn't learn that at the library. I dated a guy for a while who did some demo derby driving. He taught me a couple things."

Just that casual. Tyler felt like his head was going to explode. This silent, nonaligned broad was nuts. He shook his head, began to walk away, then spun back and pointed a finger as if it were the Cobra automatic he'd re-holstered.

"You're crazy, lady," he told her, internally surprised that his last thought could exit so easily through his mouth.

She blinked at them both. "You're carting a crapload of heavy weapons cross country, paying off KGB safe houses with vodka, looking to join a revolution you don't even trust, to fight lizards who eat humans for breakfast. And _I'm _crazy." She shook her head wildly, and winced again as a tiny bolt of pain caught in the back where Tyler's hand had connected. Then she stepped as close up to Tyler as he had to her, except she was looking up. "Mister, you wouldn't know sane if it bit you on the ass."

Farber cocked an eyebrow toward his partner. "Got a point there, bro."

"Shut up," Tyler growled. He had his comeback at last, and he didn't like it much.

Angie huffed in frustration and stalked away, asking over her shoulder, "You got anything like aspirin in this rolling armory? My _head_ hurts!" She was tired of being confused, and scared, and clueless. She couldn't do much about it, but the taste for simplicity that usually kept her silent was being overcome and the only defense she could think of was to get by herself for as long as she could manage. She sat down against a rock and wrapped her arms around her drawn-up knees, then dropped her head forward, eyes shut tight. She wanted to go _home._ Of course if she were silly enough to say it, Rambo would be only too happy to remind her it was a black smoking crater. She would not cry, she would _not._

She heard steps approach, and someone settled on the grass next to her. No hesitation.

"Here."

She raised her head and opened her eyes to see Ham Tyler handing her a couple of brown capsules and a canteen. Angie took the capsules and stared at them a moment. "Oh, I don't think something this small is gonna work." She swallowed them down and swigged some water, grimacing as she tipped her head back.

"Better a smack in the head than to lose it." He rose on his knees next to her. "Put your head down again."

It sounded more like an invitation than an order. She leaned her head down on her knees again, and felt him grip the nape of her neck with the fingertips of one hand. Sure, and firm, precise. Of course, she thought to herself, you can't set explosives with gorilla paws. Then his other hand at the back of her head, the same precise pressure. "Breathe," he said, and they stayed that way for few minutes. Then he slipped his hand under her forehead, cradling the back of her neck with the other, and lifted her straight again.

"How's that." No question mark.

She turned her head experimentally. The pain was gone. "Thank your buddy in Thailand for me."

He changed the subject. "Back there," Ham told her, "you can't do that again. I don't like surprises, especially under fire."

"Me neither, but I guess I can kiss that preference goodbye. I'll try not to surprise you again, though. I just didn't think to say anything… I'm so at home in my own head, I'm not very good at sharing. Besides, I'm a big fan of 'whatever works.'"

A smile pulled at the still mouth. He could certainly "relate", as the new age lefties were fond of saying, before the invasion anyway. "Well if you have any _other_ useful skills don't keep them to yourself."

"I think my skills are tapped out. No computers around, and I just did my one driving trick. I swear I don't know if I'll ever be 'useful' again. Certainly not in _this_ company." She sighed. "I always figured the best way to learn what's what is to shut up, watch, and listen, and act accordingly. Most questions don't get you anywhere; just asking lets everyone know what you want to hear so you never get any clarity. Margaret Mead had it right, immersion and osmosis is the way to go. But everything's crazy now, and I don't know what anything is supposed to mean." She was silent for a bit, staring at the grass between her feet. "I miss clarity, and quiet." She didn't catch Ham's subtle nod.

"We've got to get going if we want to get to L.A. before nightfall. And those lizards probably had a tracker installed; their friends will be coming looking for them. You okay to drive?"

She'd drive even if her head was still pounding like a sledgehammer. Let someone else play cargo for a change. "Sure. You okay to let me?"

Ham pulled her to her feet and smiled the Crocodile Smile (his smiles were so rare and distinct that Angie had begun to name them). "When I'm not, you'll know it."

No surprises there.

* * *

_**DAY THREE: MID AFTERNOON**_

After the drama of the Visitor showdown things settled into the familiar routine of drive, drive, drive. Angie was happy not to be stuffed in the back of the van anymore, but it seemed like they'd never actually get where Farber and Tyler meant to end up. She checked the clock in the dashboard for the thousandth time, the odometer for the millionth.

"You're gonna make me say it, aren't you?" she accused her passengers suddenly. Ham smirked at her from the passenger seat.

"That's right. Go ahead and say it."

"How much _farther_?"

Guffaws from the rear of the van. "Okay bro, I owe you that twenty. I really thought she'd make it."

Angie shook her head in disgust. Juvenile mercenaries, talk about an oxymoron.

"Take that dirt road up there on the left," Ham directed.

She found it with a little difficulty, the dirt track being mostly shielded from the main road, and stopped in a clearing when Ham indicated "Park it here." He jumped out of the passenger seat.

"Okay, sit tight. I'll be back in an hour." With no further explanation he slammed the door and headed off into the brush.

Angie was startled by a canteen suddenly thrust forward between the seats. It was almost possible to forget someone else was in back. If Ham Tyler was spare in his conversation, his partner Chris Farber was positively sphinx-like.

"Thanks." After she drank she handed it back again, but he'd opened the side door of the van and climbed out, and was now stretching and groaning. She'd been miserable back there, and he was twice her size, up down and sideways.

"Not exactly built for comfort," Angie observed as she also got out to stretch her legs and back. "Or speed." Considering the quantity of arms and ammunition and other "equipment" yet unrevealed, she was frankly amazed it could move at all. She still didn't understand how she kept from rolling it over or blowing it up during her bout of stunt driving.

Chris laughed. "You made it move right quick back there."

"Panic is a powerful motivator." She paused and considered how far she'd traveled in just a week, and added, "For a lot of things."

The big man's smile softened a little. "You're doing pretty good for a rookie."

"Every refugee is a rookie," she observed. Farber looked away as if he were seeing something he shouldn't, then went around the van to pop the hood. Angie knew she probably shouldn't ask and also knew she was breaking her own rule about asking questions, but something had been poking in her mind since last night. She walked over to where Farber was "deeply" involved in checking the oil and other distractions from the moment.

"I get the feeling I remind you guys of somebody."

He was going to tell her no, or mind your business, but thought better of it. He replaced the dipstick, and looked her in the eye as he wiped his hands on his shirt.

"Lemme tell you… you remind us of everybody."

Immersion with these two and the unavoidable osmosis of the past few days relieved her of the need for details. "Ah. There must be lots of 'everybody' where you've been." Everybody surviving at the edges of Tyler's and Farber's peripheral vision as they arranged whatever they were paid to arrange to disrupt whatever needed disrupting, everybody left behind to pick up the pieces (or get blown into them). Everybody passing from normal life to the foreign landscape of chaos, everybody they couldn't afford to notice even as they couldn't keep from noticing. Angie figured there had to be something that registered at some time, flashes of something they were able to disregard or store in a black box in their head for later, when it could be washed away by whatever they drank or screwed or smoked. You live through it, Ham told her that morning, or you don't. Sit still, be quiet, and breathe. How they managed that, she couldn't imagine. Suddenly it was Angie who felt like a voyeur.

"You're doing pretty good too," she told him. "In case 'everybody' ever asks." She left him to finish checking things under the hood, and stretched out in the shade to wait for Tyler's return. She used to have friends like those two seemed to be, more than the sum of their parts. One or two, anyway. Part of the 'everybody' who hadn't lived through it, while she had. What a fucking crapshoot.

A boot toe nudged her awake. "Up and at 'em, Angel. We'll be where we're going in an hour, tops."

She shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun and saw Tyler standing over her, loaded down with yet more stuff. Cameras, it looked like, bandoliers of film, a map case, a knapsack full of other stuff. He noticed her noticing, and explained, "Can't just show up and say 'howdy'. We're gonna do a little surveillance first, a little osmosis before we immerse if you get my drift. Reno set us up a station near the resistance hideout."

* * *

_**DAY THREE: 10 PM**_

Angie wasn't sure what a rebel camp (or even a rebel) was supposed to look like, but the abandoned water processing plant visible through the rusted chain link fence didn't remind her of any action movies she'd seen. She watched warily from the camper that had been setup by her companions' mysterious contact. Who knew whose side anyone was on? She jumped at the movement coming from around an abandoned car, but Chris was out with his Uzi almost before Tyler could brush off the bespectacled guy who looked weirdly like a gun-toting CPA, followed closely by his equally out-of-place looking Mexican cohort.

"In about 10 seconds you're gonna be cloud dancing," Farber drawled. In spite of the sudden abundance of firearms and attitude, Angie almost laughed out loud. _Cloud dancing! Who the hell says "cloud dancing"?_

The two very embarrassed rebels argued like teenagers as they were forced to lead the way into the recesses of the processing station. Chris nudged Angie forward between himself and Tyler. Good thing too, because the rush of armed humanity that suddenly appeared in front of them in the narrow passageway would have had Angie heading for the hills if she'd been bringing up the rear. A guy who might have been good looking if he didn't radiate "cocky" stepped to the front and lowered his weapon, prompting the others to follow suit.

"How ya doin' Gooder?" Tyler greeted the Cocky guy. No smiles there. "Mike Donovan, " he told his companions, then pointed to each of them in turn, "Chris Farber, Angie Harper." He returned his attention back to Donovan. "Don't tell me you're in charge of this rat hole, Gooder?"

"Ham Tyler," the other man returned, "I should have known you'd crawl out from under some munitions dump sooner or later." He turned to the others behind him. "'Gooder', that's short for 'do-gooder'," and went on to "introduce" Tyler. On and on, in multiple syllables and self-righteous hyperbole.

The resumption of what was obviously a pissing match of historical proportions was cut short when Donovan asked Angie, "So what's an apparently nice girl like you see in a guy like this?"

Taking a step forward she informed him tersely, "He doesn't talk too much."

The look on Donovan's face told Angie he was assuming that she was a road dividend, either against her will or because of her own willingness to screw whoever looked useful. It suddenly didn't seem very ironic that she felt more comfortable with Tyler and Farber, regardless of their unknown history, than with these "regular people." Especially this Gooder, who struck her as such an utter prick that he was already reaching some buttons even Tyler hadn't found yet.

"So much for instant fellowship," a female voice commented from behind Donovan. A very petite blonde limped forward, followed closely by a dark-haired man. Both seemed a little more together than the others, but that didn't seem to be a very high bar at the moment.

"I'm Julie Parrish, and this is my colleague Robert Maxwell. I'm afraid we're in charge of more things than we'd like to be, so if you're here to help I'm glad to hear it. You look like you've had a long, hard trip. Let's get you something to eat and you can learn about what we're doing here."

Tyler dismissed the notion of hospitality. "We didn't come here for a tea party, lady. Why don't you show us around and we'll get down to business. Looks to me like you people need some serious organization."

"Some people run on adrenalin and testosterone," Angie shot a pleading look at Tyler, "but wimps like me need a little nourishment, thanks." Ham tipped an indulgent (hell, patronizing) nod, and Chris just went along. The collection of rebels, all of whom looked to Angie as much like a fish-out-of-water, trailed off about their business.

During the brief meal, the planned mission at the latest big press event celebrating the opening of the new "chemical plant" (aka food processing center) was mentioned.

"So why you wasting time trying to forge passes?" Angie wanted to know. "You're lucky you got away with it the first time."

"Wasting time? How else are we going to get in?" Robert wanted to know, and Julie's expression suggested agreement.

"Well first of all, the first thing they're gonna look for is forgery. That means their pass readers will be hard coded for narrow parameters."

Julie and Robert exchanged a look. "What did you do before you met up with these two?" Julie asked, carefully avoiding the value judgments Mike's attitude had been screaming earlier.

"IT at Boston Public Library."

The two scientists were silent for a moment, and even Donovan looked subdued. "But Boston's," he began.

Tyler interrupted in a low voice, "She knows, Gooder."

Angie ignored them both. "What I mean is that the best way to get around the Visitor system is to breach it at the weakest point, at the applications level."

"Which means?" Maxwell inquired.

"Long story short? Persuading it to expand its horizons regarding what is defined as a pass. In simple terms, if a pass includes a photo 1 by 1 inch, rewrite the parameters to accept 5 by 5 inches. Like that."

"Can you hack into the Visitor systems and reprogram them? And how do you know how they work?"

Angie shook her head. "I can't program worth shit. But I can weasel with app codes like god's gift. And to answer the other question, any occupying force needs to be able to link with their target's systems in order to take effective control, so bridge technologies would be the primary focus on the ground. For practicality's sake their own home-based stuff would be limited to their ship systems, especially when they've come this far. Anyway, my theory is that code writers' egos are consistent throughout the universe: they all believe they're so brilliant that external corruption is impossible. So the security is token, and limited to very obvious areas, like programming. And that's probably only so nobody will mess with their 'perfect' creation! So anyway, all you have to do is rewrite the app parameters, and almost anything you create that _looks_ remotely like one of their passes will skate right through their scanners."

Donovan wasn't convinced. "How do you know so much about what the Visitors would have to do to conquer us?"

Patience, Angie reminded herself. "The prerequisites of conquest have been recorded for thousands of years, you just have to read them." It all worked together, she'd learned, history, science, technology and even military logistics. There wasn't anything in life you couldn't find if the library was big enough.

"But you're talking about Earth history."

Now Angie sat back with a sidelong glance at Tyler and Farber, who were already (almost) smiling in anticipation of her reply. After just three days Tyler and his partner knew her better than anyone left alive. Though she hadn't noticed it, Tyler had been watching Angie with some interest as she became more comfortable and spoke a little more freely. Found her element, he thought, or something close to it. He was willing to admit he was glad to see it, glad to know there'd be some useful purpose for having brought her in. From time to time he'd encountered women who got his attention enough to be a distraction, but this was different. No worries of going soft, though he couldn't pinpoint exactly why. Maybe it was that she understood quiet and clarity like he did, knew the value of observation over inquiry. Those kinds of people - rare, rare - didn't worry him. They were reliable... like Chris Farber. Well, maybe a little different. Tyler had never carried Farber to bed and felt his head drop with a sleepy sigh. Ham still didn't really want to know Angie's story, but he was coming to know her, and it felt safe. He was even willing to admit it felt good. It had been a very, very long time since getting to know a woman felt like anything more than a risk, or a grudging necessity.

"They're aiming to _conquer_ Earth," Angie reminded Donovan casually, "Mars history won't help 'em much."

Robert and Julie were intrigued, if doubtful. "How do we find out what the pass parameters are?"

Angie considered this for a minute. Hacking into the system would be the best way, but that would involve skills far beyond her own and risks far beyond imagining.

"Get hold of a pass, and copy it. Just copy it, don't worry about how to imitate it convincingly. If I can see what its makeup is, I can reasonably spec the parameters." She paused, suddenly aware her thoughts were running ahead of certainty. "No guarantees, you understand. Just better odds than a straight forgery."

Robert smiled at Julie and Mike. "Better odds are exactly what we need. Let's meet again in the morning and we'll figure out how to get a pass." He looked meaningfully at Mike.

Suddenly Angie realized that Tyler hadn't said a word. That Farber was silent was no surprise. She looked at Ham, since he was at least familiar with the mechanics of rebellion and subterfuge.

"Works for me," he said simply.

* * *

Funny how a full moon could show up on exactly the wrong night.

Ham sat down a step or two above Angie where she'd taken refuge after the preliminary "meeting".

"I thought you'd run off."

Angie didn't bother looking back at Tyler. "Run off? Just tell me which way, and I'm gone."

"Maybe you should stick around for that meeting tomorrow."

She snorted. "Maybe I should get the fuck outta Dodge before they find out I made promises I can't keep." It was getting easier to speak her thoughts out loud.

"I didn't hear any promises."

"A mere technicality." She stared at the moon for a few minutes. Tyler said nothing, but she knew he was still there. "You know movies?" He knew history and books, why not movies?

"Just the classics."

Well, then. "So I keep thinking, in the back of my head, if I click my heels together three times, I'll go home. Spiral effects, harp music, the whole nine yards. But I'll be home after three." A moment or two of silence. "But Kansas is _so_ gone now."

Tyler didn't comment. Angie Harper was looking less like all the others all the time. Or maybe she did look like all the others, but he was getting a close enough look at what made them all different from one another.

"Now you know why I don't say much. I talk kind of crazy, like you said."

"Crazy is the new language, Angel. You're just lucky you learned it early."

A deep sigh. "I don't think I'll ever be lucky again. 'Course right now I'd settle for a little more time like now, a little quiet. Not silence, just… still. You know? I mean most of these people seem okay, stuck in the middle of the weird zone like all of us, but even when they're not talking they're not quiet. There's this _buzz_, this edginess." She turned suddenly, and looked Tyler in the eyes. She could see them, under the full moon, deep chocolate. Still definitely unsweetened, but not as bitter as she'd first thought. "_You're_ quiet, Tyler. I don't know why, after all you've done, but you are."

He gave a quiet laugh, a token joke. "Stealth. Comes with the job."

She shook her head. "Nah. Stealth, that's deliberate. Quiet, it's… _innate_. Like the song says, you can't memorize Zen."

"Song?"

"Nobody you've heard of." She rose, and looked down at him. "I should find my bunk and maybe get to know the new compadres. Julie showed me around, but this place is a freaking rabbit warren."

"The better to hide you in, my dear." Fairy tales were literature, too.

She shook her head and smiled. "Shit, Tyler, you are a font of... all sorts of stuff."

When he stood and curled a hand around that hamster-brown braid and leaned into her, her first thought was how that hard-looking mouth was anything but. Then, how there was no groping or hard grasping with manly hands, just light fingers to steady her face against his. And no tongue jamming down her throat, thank God. Not gentle, exactly… gentle was deliberate. This was… innate. And brief enough that she didn't actually get the chance to respond, as she was still making up her mind if she should.

No protest, Ham noticed, but nothing else either. Win some, lose some. He let her go and considered her from the step above, then shrugged. "Maybe not. Back to Plan A is fine with me."

She could tell he meant it. "Wait," and she grabbed him by the leather lapel and pulled him back down to her. Ironically, with an insistence whose absence had so impressed her a moment ago, as if she could draw that quiet and stillness into herself from him. Ham indulged her for a second or two, then pulled back a bit.

"_Easy_, Angel. I'm not going anywhere."

She was embarrassed, caught out. "Sorry." How long had it been since she'd been kissed by someone who had nothing to prove?

He looked down at where her right hand was still clutched on his jacket as if she were afraid to let go. "No, not like that," he worked his thumb into her fist to loosen her grip and open her hand. "Like this." He kissed her palm lightly, and closed her hand. "Easy. Stand still. Be quiet." Then that not-hard mouth was on hers again, a little less brief than the first time. "Breathe."

"Well okay then," she said finally, as if something had been settled. Then in response to the nanosecond of consideration that flashed through her brain she said aloud, "Why ask why."

His smile, the honest one she'd seen only a few times, showed in the dark. "That was a beer commercial."

"Can't get nothin' past you."

"Not much."

"Good," she confessed with an exhausted sigh, and dropped her forehead against his arm, "I _so_ hate having to explain things."

"Not to me, Angie," when he spoke her name low and quiet it sounded more intimate than any nickname. "I got you from word one." And as abruptly as he'd kissed her, he stepped back from her. "Okay, lights out. Tomorrow after that meeting you start lessons."

"Huh?"

"If you're gonna run with professionals, you're gonna learn to shoot."

She rolled her eyes. "I _told_ you, Tyler, I'm no _good_ with guns."

"You'll do fine," and Angie was stunned to see him tip her a mischievous wink. "If all else fails, pretend it's a lamp."

As they walked back to the entrance of the building Ham wrapped an arm around Angie's shoulders and dropped a kiss on her head. "See you in the morning."

She looked at him in puzzlement, having expected something a little different might be happening. Not surprisingly he read her perfectly.

"Later," he promised with a smile, "I'm not going anywhere."


End file.
